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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2017
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REFLECTIONS
ON A FULL
YEAR
Photos Courtesy Joan Herman
Herman, with her husband, John Gaasland, on an early iteration of the beach chariot in Newport 2014.
A Women’s March, a friend’s departure,
a seat in public office, a beach-bound
chariot ride and a high school reunion
By JOAN HERMAN
For The Daily Astorian
I
love the change of seasons,
particularly fall into win-
ter. The darkest days of the
year, rather than depress me,
envelop me like a comfort-
ing cloak, encouraging me to
reflect on the previous 12 months.
I marked my first full year living
here since my return to Astoria in
2016. I underwent minor surgery. I
was appointed to public office, the
Astoria Planning Commission.
And I lost my dearest cat friend,
my 17-year-old Himalayan-Sia-
mese mix, Panda Bear. He was
just two months old when he was
handed over to my care in a shoe
box outside the Columbia River
Maritime Museum. Over the years,
he and I had grown older and
weaker together, I from multiple
sclerosis, he from age and kidney
disease.
I was Panda’s human, and as I
progressed from needing no mobil-
ity aids to a cane, then a walker
and, eventually, a wheelchair, he
simply found new ways to snuggle
up to me. He is greatly missed.
A few other experiences from
2017 stand out. Shortly after the
year began, I joined some 1,300
other marchers on Jan. 21 for the
Astoria Women’s March, one of
thousands occurring simultane-
ously across the globe. In my
younger, able-bodied days, I often
spent weekends participating in
one athletic event or another —
whether 10K runs or long-distance
bike rides. I was proud and espe-
cially grateful to be able to partic-
ipate in a mass event once again,
albeit this time in my cherry-red
power wheelchair.
I have been using the chair
since 2014 due to MS, but thanks
to the Americans with Disabilities
Act, which requires sidewalks to
be wheelchair-accessible, I could
easily navigate the entire route of
Life
Doesn’t everything die
at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it
you plan to do
with your one wild
and precious life?”
— Mary Oliver, American poet
the Women’s March.
Ironically, Oregon’s famously
public beaches are out of reach for
most wheelchair users, unless they
are in a vehicle. Personally, I hate
the idea of driving a vehicle on
the beach, and it’s not the same as
being out in the elements with the
wind blowing in my face anyway.
That said, I am blessed to be
married to a handy husband, who is
often devising ways to help me par-
ticipate in activities I would other-
wise have to give up due to my dis-
ability. When John mentioned he
wanted to attend the annual Corgi
Beach Day, held in Cannon Beach
in July, I told him to go without
me, as I couldn’t get my chair on
the sand. (I had not yet heard that
Cannon Beach had purchased two
beach-worthy wheelchairs.)
Not to be dissuaded, John
devised what he calls the “beach
chariot,” a simple contraption
involving a lawn chair placed atop
a plywood deck, with fat-tired
wheels beneath it.
For the first time in three years,
I was able to get on the beach, with
John pulling the long aluminum
poles connected to the chariot,
pedicab style. We may have gotten
as many laughs as the throngs of
happy little dogs romping about on
that sunny July day.
One month later, and with some
trepidation, I headed to my 40th
high school reunion in Salem. I
was painfully shy and unhappy in
high school. It was not the best
time of my life, to say the least.
When I graduated high school, I
pretty much closed the door on
all but a very few friendships and
gladly moved on to the next phase
of my life.
But as I grow older and become
more aware of my mortality, I also
feel pulled to reconnect with peo-
ple I have known in earlier stages.
I would be lying if said I wasn’t
worried about how my former
classmates would perceive my
wheelchair-bound self. Would any
of my small circle of friends be in
attendance? Would the star quar-
terback who embarrassed me in the
school hallway, one day so many
years ago, also be present?
Yet I knew if I didn’t go, I
would regret it. There are no redos
for 40th reunions.
I am happy to report that I not
only survived the event but had
a good time. As soon as I rolled
into the Salem Convention Center,
where the reunion was held, sev-
eral classmates I literally hadn’t
seen since graduation in 1977 sur-
rounded me, welcoming me with
hugs.
And that high school jock I was
worried about seeing? He had died
of cancer three months earlier.
As I write these words four
months later, on a surpris-
ingly clear December day, I am
reminded of a remarkable, once-
in-a-lifetime moment last summer,
when all of us stared up at the sky,
united in childlike wonder at the
sheer beauty and mystery of the
universe.
I am grateful to be here still.
From left: Herman, Denise Moore, Josie Peper, Pat Bur-
ness and Wendela Howie at the Astoria Women’s March
in January 2017.
Herman views the eclipse from the Astoria Column in
August 2017.
Herman with Panda Bear circa 2009